


(Still Empty, Less Cold)

by androgenius



Category: Nancy Drew (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1790719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgenius/pseuds/androgenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nancy comes home from Scotland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Still Empty, Less Cold)

When she disappears one day and flies to Scotland, Carson is left to wonder what he did wrong, where he didn't do enough, why he's left to relive a nightmare for the second time. Like Kate is trying to punish him for ever letting her go in the first place, reopening the wound by throwing Nancy right into the lion's den.

The problem is that he's not ready to let go, that he's always been to attached-- Kate used to say that, too-- and if he's honest, he barely remembers what life without Nancy was like. 

If he thinks back, there's just Nancy. Newspaper clippings and accounts of her heroic feats in more recent years that are daily reminders that she's seamlessly stepped into her mother's shoes without ever having needed to try them on. Before that, late dinners she stayed up for despite his needing to work late at the office-- that is, until he told his secretary he would need to cut down on cases because his daughter was more important than any civil good he could do from his desk or in a courtroom. Nancy, holding onto his hand the day that Moira's call came in, choked up and _lying_ to him-- although maybe not, not now that he has more information, but he's not ready to process that yet, she could still be putting his baby in danger, and he can't think about that right now-- 

Nancy playing the piano on her mother's lap, and poorly at that. Nancy, learning to walk for the first time into her father's arms. Nancy, saying _papa_ before learning to say anything else. 

Nancy, swathed in pink blankets to match her pink screaming face as he holds her for the first time.

Before that, there was Kate. Five months pregnant and crying over something she'd never have cried about if it hadn't been for hormones-- always no-nonsense until Nancy had entered their world and had become the most important thing in their lives. Kate and him, in Scotland with Moira, steeped in memories too painful to think about now. Kate on their wedding day, when she tore her dress and fixed it herself with ten minutes to spare. Him and Kate on their first date, when she called him out on every piece of bullshit that left his mouth. 

But Kate is gone now, and Carson hates that he knows _exactly_ how Moira feels, having known her, having loved her like family. He refuses to acknowledge that, but what's easier to acknowledge is the fact that Moira doesn't have kids, doesn't know what it's like to still have a part of Kate to hold onto.

If she's putting Nancy in danger like Kate--

His phone rings, and Carson is fairly certain he has a heart attack. He sees Nancy's name and answers instantly amidst a million nightmare scenarios-- what if someone has her, wants to take her life, what if she's calling to say goodbye or _I love you, Dad_ just one more time-- hands trembling as he almost presses the wrong button and hangs up on her instead of answering.

"Hi."

"Hi, Dad."

It's a relief to hear her voice not quivering or followed up with a ransom amount, and his shoulders sag down pitifully with the knowledge that his baby girl is still alive.

It's the ways in which she's like Kate that make him love her this much, but all the same, he wishes she weren't. A part of him wants her to be the exact opposite of Kate-- not foolhardy or brave or selfless, but selfish with her life, with her safety. Putting herself before all else because she should know that's what her father would do, because he couldn't bear the thought of losing his baby girl.

But it's not her fault that her mother died because she was too willing to give up her own life to save others, and he knows that all the same. Ned breaking in, yelling at him, is a wake-up call. Nancy can't be stopped. She's too damn stubborn, just like her mother. Too damn caring, just like Kate.

If he were a better father, he'd be able to tell her that he's proud of her, that he knows she's doing what's right, that she's not stupid to want to chase this. That this is a right of passage she's earned for herself for being an extraordinary young woman following in the footsteps of a woman far greater than her father ever was or could ever hope to be.

He's selfish. Wanting Nancy all to himself like this, clinging to her as though his life depends on her safety, as though Kate had breathed meaning into it that he couldn't imagine living without. 

What would life be without Nancy? No more sitting up by the phone and worrying all the time. No more hurrying home from the office to have dinner with her and Hannah. No more bragging to her about shelves he managed to build while she was away just to distract him from worrying over this case and that case she's on. 

Togo whines pitifully at the front door, and Carson just sighs, deep, his eyes closing as his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. 

Every _please come home_ should come accompanied by an _I'm so proud of you_ , but he's not strong enough for that, so he just stares at the phone and waits for a call. 

He missed Kate's last; he's not doing it again.

But when he doesn't hear from her for 24 hours, he wonders if there was ever a call in the first place, checking his cell every couple of seconds to make sure there isn't a call he might have missed, just _maybe_.

He doesn't sleep that night, but he does spend ample time considering calling Ned to yell at him for being an utter fool for luring Nancy into precisely what he _and Kate_ had worked so hard to protect her from in the first place, calling Hannah on her trip to let her share in his suffering, calling Frank and Joe Hardy because _maybe_ , just _maybe_ Revenant didn't pull their passports, that maybe they could go find his daughter for him, dead or alive. He even considers calling Moira, finger hovering over the _call_ button for a solid fifteen seconds before he decides to give up for the third time.

He calls Nancy, too, a good fifteen times, but it only ever cuts to voicemail, Carson running his hands through his hair as he refills his tumbler once more, downing the whiskey in one go. 

He falls asleep sometime around three in the afternoon, which is frankly pathetic, only to be awoken by Toto's barking and the jostling of keys and-- Kate's voice.

"Hi, Dad."

No. _Nancy's_ voice.

He's out of his seat in an instant, rushing over to her to pull his arms around her, tight-- too tight-- his face tucked in close, nose buried in her hair, smelling like Kate, feeling like Kate--

Carson closes his eyes and tries to stop the wash of tears that comes over him. He's shaking, trembling even with her to hold onto, and he realizes numbly, somewhere in the back of his head, that losing Kate was like losing an anchor, and he hasn't stopped trembling since. 

Nancy, just like her mother, never stops moving, an unreliable source of comfort, and Carson briefly, in the back of his mind, contemplates stapling Nancy to her seat at her desk and never letting her go again. 

But that would make her infinitely unlike Kate.

"I missed you, too, Dad."

She makes such light of these things, and Carson pulls back, desperately choked up-- he'll never survive it if she ever decides to get married and have kids; Kate was always the strong one, and those times she won't be there to hand him one of her tissues she always kept in her handbag because she's so damn reasonable and always prepared for anything-- no, _was_ \-- and he takes a deep breath as he finally takes a long look at his baby girl.

"You didn't call, I thought--"

"I wanted to surprise you... I'm sorry I worried you."

She sounds so innocent when she says it that he can't help but pull her back into his arms, kissing the top of her head with terrifying desperation, just muttering softly into her hair.

"No more mysteries for a while, okay?"

"But _Dad_ \--"

"No. No buts. I don't care what you have to do to spend your time, but--" He takes a deep breath. "Just a break. That's all I ask. One... month without worrying if you're going to be coming home alive, okay?"

"I... _guess_ I could _try_..."

"Good. That's all I ask. Although it would be nice if you could try just a little harder than that."

He already knows she won't. A part of him is certain that even if Nancy did whatever she could to evade the hand of fate, her mother's legacy would find her now matter what. It's what makes her so like her mother, and when Nancy finally pulls away-- or rather, when Carson finally let's go of her following a long, whined _daaaad_ \-- his eyes deceive him for a split second. 

"You look so like your mother," he says quietly enough that he can hope she doesn't hear him. 

But she does. Of course she does, looking back at him, breaking in her ascent up the stairs. 

His glasses went crooked from falling asleep at the table before, but now they're covered in tiny little wet beads from the tears he fought to hold in, and even if taking them off is a mistake, he does it anyway, eyes still blurry from crying. 

Looking up at her is a mistake, if only because there are times even with his glasses on that he looks at her and thinks she's Kate. The times he calls her Kate by accident are ones they don't talk about, and Carson takes a deep breath as he thinks about the cold, empty bed upstairs that hasn't changed its story for over a decade, as cold and lonely today as it was the day Kate left for Scotland.

Coming back down the step, Nancy moves to stand on the tips of her toes to kiss him on his cheek, and he fights back the urge to turn his head.

"You just got me back. I'm not disappearing out from under your nose anytime soon, okay? _Promise._ Just let me get settled back into my room."

  


&

  


There's an odd weight hanging over them after that Carson can't quite explain, though whether it's from lack of trying or not wanting to touch the ache in his chest, he's not sure. Dinner is quiet, no mention of Scotland, and after that, they settle back in to the same old routine almost as if nothing at all had changed, even if everything had. 

Carson goes to bed (still cold, still empty) to read, knowing full well that he's supposed to feel relieved in knowing that Nancy is home and safe and yet unable to help the constant nagging in his stomach that she might slip out of his fingers if he only closes his eyes for one second too long.

The knock on his door is a welcome reminder that she's still alive and home safe, and he exhales slowly, setting his book down.

"Come in."

Nancy closes the door behind her, slowly making her way over to sit on the edge of his bed (still cold, less empty now.) 

"She wrote me a letter," Nancy finally admits, turning to face him. 

"I--" He hesitates. "I won't ask if I can read it."

"No, you can. In it, mom said that she has a message for you, too."

"What is it?"

"I'm supposed to tell you to look up _apology_ in the dictionary."

"Oh." His heart sinks just as his voice drops, Nancy shaking her head.

"She said I had to hold you to it. There's supposed to be a message."

He sighs at that, lowering his gaze as he slowly nods. He knows he promised her that they'd talk about it, but now he's not so sure anymore, if only because it seems that he was wrong all along-- Nancy was the strong one all these years. It's him that that didn't think he could handle talking about Kate if only because looking at Nancy already felt like digging a knife into an open wound.

"I'll get to it. I promise. I'm just going to need some time."

"I understand." Nancy moves to stand, looking every bit like the pillar of strength Kate used to be, and for a second Carson regrets not getting bifocals as he takes off his reading glasses, running hi hands over his face before setting them aside.

"Listen, Kiddo, I'm sorry. I know I haven't been much help to you in all of this, but... I'm going to do my best. I'm just not as strong as I like to think I am. Not without your mother around."

"You're my dad," she whispers softly, coming back over to take his hand at the edge of the bed. "You're at least half responsible for the person I am today, and... I think mom would have wanted you to take more credit for that. You're stronger than you think. After all, you single-handedly raised this teenage girl, didn't you?"

" _Am raising_. Don't think I don't know how much this is still a work in progress. You might look and sound and feel just like your mother, but you're not quite there yet, Kiddo."

His thumb is on her wrist, gently playing at the skin there, and he lets his gaze stray for a moment to look down at her hand. She smells like her mother, too. He can't help but wonder if maybe...

"Goodnight, Dad," Nancy smiles softly, moving to stand only to meet resistance when he hesitates letting go of her wrist for a few seconds before finally relenting with a sad smile.

"Okay, okay," he concedes, holding his hands up in mock-defeat. "You win. Go to bed."

You know it's the right thing when Nancy smiles and turns to head back to her room, but when she crawls into bed with you at three in the morning, you don't care what the reason is, a nightmare or just the same blind, selfless empathy that drove her to Scotland in the first place, you're just glad she's there for you to hold.


End file.
